


I Will Not Go

by your_bro_joe



Category: Django Unchained (2012)
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Polyamory Negotiations
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-05
Updated: 2013-02-05
Packaged: 2017-11-28 06:45:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,018
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/671483
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/your_bro_joe/pseuds/your_bro_joe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“This ain’t like that,” he repeats, shaking his head and tilting it down, looking at the space between them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Will Not Go

It starts, as it often does, as huddling for warmth against the snow and frozen earth they sleep on. When the physical exhilaration of killing leads to unfortunately timed erections, they move on to halfhearted handjobs as they lie in their blanket cocoon, safe from the outside world. When things get more intimate, they find themselves getting more and more frenzied, trying futilely to convince themselves there are no feelings between them beyond mutual respect and easy friendship.

King breaks that facade with one frantic kiss.

Django returns it at first, just as desperate, but realizes what he’s doing and pulls away; takes his hands off King’s body and turns his head.

“This ain’t like that,” he says simply, and King has to keep from whining at the loss of contact.

“Yes, I know,” the German replies, grip loose on Django’s hips, but Django doesn’t push him away. “I forgot where I was for a moment. I must admit, your touch is intoxicating.” He chuckles, trying to break the tension, but Django won’t look at him. King frowns.

“I do apologize for such a glaring misstep on my part, Django, it was not my intention to cross boundaries. Can you find it in your heart to forgive me?” King wheedles, and the younger man closes his eyes.

“This ain’t like that,” he repeats, shaking his head and tilting it down, looking at the space between them.

“Yes, I am aware,” King answers again, “and I am extremely sor—”

“I don’t think you are,” Django bites back, and thinks bitterly how a month ago he wouldn’t have dreamed of talking to a white man that way, but King is different. That’s what makes this so hard. “You know I got Hilde, hell, you keep sayin’ you’re gonna help me find her, but are you? If we keep carryin’ on like this—” he pauses, swallows. King can’t make him forget about Hilde, but King might forget, or King might refuse, if they keep on like this. His fingers clench into fists.

“You think I mean to steal you away from your beloved Brunhilde?” King asks, and there’s an earnestness in his voice that makes Django look up at him, confused. “Never! On my honor as a German, I could never come between Siegfried and his bride.” He pats the younger man on the cheek and smiles, then lets his hand run back over Django’s ear, over his short hair and down to his neck. “While I must admit that I have become quite fond of you, young Django,” he says wistfully, “I know your heart belongs quite firmly to another. I only hope that, perhaps,” his smile shrinks, becomes more honest, “you may share a small part of it with me. Only for a little while,” he amends, “and only if you desire. And once Broomhilda is back in your arms, you may cast me aside and never think of me again, if that is what you wish.” He says the last bit with a flourish to hide his vulnerability, but Django catches it; sees the tremor in the quirk of his lips.

“Think it’s too late for that, Doc,” he says quietly, and King shrugs.

“Well, it was worth a try—”

“Cuz you got a bigger part than I’d like to admit.” His smile is tentative, made more so by King’s shocked staring. Django grimaces. “Stop lookin’ at me like that, you make me nervous.”

“Sorry,” King says quietly, and then his lips are on Django’s mouth again, gentler than before, but no less desperate, now that he knows at least some of his affections are returned.

They move more slowly now; tensions alleviated and they suddenly feel as if they have all the time in the world, laid out under the stars, their horses and the forest the only witnesses around for miles. King’s hands move from Django’s hips, up his sides to his cheeks, pulling him deeper into the kiss. The younger man offers no resistance, kissing him back with equal passion and wrapping his arms around King’s waist, pulling their bodies flush together. When their hips collide, they both let out deep groans.

Before, at this point, they would reach down and jerk each other off separately, eyes closed to avoid any undue awkwardness. But now, once they’ve undone their pants, King reaches down and wraps them up together in one hand. Django shudders, pausing in the kiss to see the mischief gleaming in the older man’s eyes.

“You,” he starts, gasps, continues, “you done this before, Doc?”

“Hmm, once or twice,” King admits, “as a prelude to something greater, usually.”

“Wh… what you do that’s greater?” Django groans, unused to being handled this way; to feeling the hot skin of another man’s cock pressed against his own.

King smiles, kisses him chastely. “That is for another time. For now—” he trembles when Django shifts in his grip, rubbing the heads of their cocks together, “for now, this should be enough.”

“Yeah,” Django agrees, surrendering to the feeling as King’s hand speeds up, letting himself be kissed by a hot, open mouth until he’s seeing stars, hips bucking roughly against his new lover’s as he comes in thick streams over their bellies, mixing with King’s come as the older man slows; presses soft kisses to his cheeks and forehead, rubbing his beard against the side of his face. Django laughs quietly then, pulling King against himself and rubbing his own beard against the crook of King’s neck.

After a few long, quiet moments, King pulls out a handkerchief and wipes them off. “You know,” he says, “I meant it, when I said that you could forget me after you rescue Broomhilda.”

Django wraps long fingers around his wrist. “And I meant it when I said you had part of my heart.” King watches him; his mouth a thin line. “I ain’t lettin’ you go ‘less you wanna go.”

King’s lips quirk, and he sets the soiled kerchief aside before settling back down in the blankets. He kisses Django once more, softly. “Then I will not go.”


End file.
